


The Stars All Seem to Weep

by Aishuu



Series: Tsumego [10]
Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Family, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aishuu/pseuds/Aishuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life, to Shindou Heihachi, was not a game of Go, but it should have been.  </p><p>This is a story of fathers and sons, how history repeats itself, and the true value of Go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars All Seem to Weep

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Podfic: The Stars All Seem To Weep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/526817) by [mmmdraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmdraco/pseuds/mmmdraco). 



Life, to Shindou Heihachi, was not a game of Go, but it should have been. Go was a game, but it had more intricacies than any man had time to learn. It had rules that must be followed, but it was always exciting. It was something that a man could practice, and gain skills in reward.

Life, he found to his disappointment, had no guidelines. Things didn't always work out the way they should, and sometimes no amount of hard work could fight circumstance.

He had been born in the mid-30s to a businessman and his wife as their first child. Later a sister had joined his family, but she only lived for two years before a bout of influenza claimed her. It had been before the war, but the family's stoic sorrow had been swept away by the growing tide of conflict that was sweeping through the world.

He had been too young to understand what was happening. He remembered his parents speaking in hushed voices, but not what they had said. His father had been a soldier, leaving for the war when Heihachi was barely seven. 

He had not come back.

Heihachi's mother, Akane, had moved them in with her father, returning to her maiden name. The old man was a businessman, and a successful one. He had easily been able to provide for his family, but he had been strict. There had been little affection from the older man, who was a perpetual curmudgeon.

Others had not been so lucky, but the old man had come through the reconstruction period well. He invested wisely, and their family lived with relative comfort, although not too much luxury. He was strict, since life had taught him there were no easy routes.

The only time Heihachi had ever seen his grandfather relax had been while playing Go. He liked to play out on the porch, sitting in the sunlight with one of his crew of friends as they discussed politics and how the world wasn't what it had been, back in the day. Heihachi wasn't sure what "the day" was, but everything sounded like it had been better.

He couldn't actually remember a time when he hadn't played go. He had vague memories of his father sitting before the goban, smoke for his pipe curling toward the ceiling in wisps as he expounded on some point in philosophy to his young child. His grandfather took over his tutoring after, although he lacked the patience to be a really good teacher. Heihachi had supplemented his knowledge with thick kifu books, becoming a good player for someone so young.

When he had been young, he had briefly toyed with the idea of becoming an insei, but he had been honest enough with himself to understand he was no more than a gifted amateur. Instead, he entered tournaments locally and gained the reputation for being a solid competitor. Occasionally he'd play the pros there, usually with a three-stone handicap.

Heihachi never managed to beat the old man, though, since his grandfather would never allow it. His grandfather frequently played even games with professionals, and there was no way he would give any quarter, not even to his grandson. It was from him that Heihachi learned that nothing was given for free.

His grandfather had died not long after Heihachi turned eighteen. Later, at the funeral, Heihachi realized he had never once told the old man he had loved him, if not for himself, then for what he had done for his family. It was only the first of many regrets.

His inheritance was enough to complete his schooling, and that's what he did. He went to a decent university, and took a well-paid job as a salary man. It was work, and he didn’t like the late evenings, but he did it because he had to. When he was twenty, he married the girl his mother introduced him to. All in all, he led a pretty typical life. He didn’t find dissatisfaction with it. When Masao was born, he had known that the picture was complete.

He spent his nights at the Go parlor, rarely coming home. He brought home a good paycheck, and found his wife affectionate, but always there was the lure of the game. Later on he would be able to admit to himself that he loved the game better than he loved his family, because he had chosen it. Everything else he did because he was supposed to.

Then Kaori died. Their son was barely seven, but the doctors had said that the breast cancer was inoperable. She had been a Nagasaki survivor, although she had never spoken of that day or the bomb's aftermath. She would wake screaming from her sleep sometimes, shaking with tremors that nothing could stop. He wondered if that bomb had claimed her as a victim belatedly.

That left him to raise their son, and he had not done well. He'd always had someone to do the cooking and finances, and he was lost among this strange new world. He didn't like feeling so out of control, and he was resentful and angry that his wife had died. He thought of remarriage, but never found the time to get around to it.

He coped, since there was no other choice, but he never managed to develop a good relationship with his son. There was always his work, and Masao had done well enough in school that Heihachi didn’t need to concern himself. Their meals may not have always tasted wonderful, but there was always food available. Masao may not have worn ironed uniforms, but his clothes were always good. Heihachi made sure his son had the best, since that was all he could do.

He just never learned to share himself.

When his son was young, he tried to teach Masao the same love of the game, but his impatience got the better of him. He remembered clicking his fingers to encourage the boy to hurry up. It had backfired; the pressure had only flustered Masao, leading him to make mistakes, which annoyed Heihachi even more than his slowness. 

It was a vicious cycle, and Masao had learned to hate the game. By the time the boy was twelve, he refused to play, which made Heihachi angry. It was a bit before the fad of "bonding time" entered the culture, but he had valued those games. It was the only way he knew how to deal with his son.

After graduating high school, Masao had moved out, taking a job with a company that dealt with textiles. Heihachi didn't complain, although months went by before he received a new year's card.

It was five years before Masao met Mitsuko, a quiet woman who would make a good housewife. She knew her duties, and while prone to worrying, she would be ideal for the salary man his son was becoming. She was kind, he thought, and would make a good mother.

He retired not too long after Masao’s marriage, and suddenly the days seemed too long. He wished that he was closer to his son, but the chance for them to build a strong relationship had been lost. So he spent his days in the salon, suddenly one of the old men with nothing else in his life. He loved Go, but he knew something was missing.

When his grandson was born, he had hoped for a second chance.

Hikaru was so different than Masao and himself. He had an easy charm that made people love him instantly, and he wasn't inclined to think deeply on anything. He'd been the most relaxed baby he'd ever seen, giggling at nothing. Occasionally Mitsuko would let him spend the night. Heihachi looked forward to those times, holding the child in his lap and telling him old tales, the ones he vaguely recalled his mother whispering to him before he slept.

He’d been thrilled when Hikaru had challenged him to a game. He hoped desperately that his grandson would have the same passion for Go he did, and it would be something they could share. To his disappointment, Hikaru didn’t even know how to hold the stones correctly. His movements were awkward and unsure.

"Why don't you come back in six months?" he asked, not wanting to destroy his grandson’s interest in the game, but unable to continue. He’d never been good at shidou-go, since he’d only ever learned to play full out.

It was more than six months before his grandson returned to challenge him again. Hikaru, like most children, got busy with his own life. Heihachi tried not to let it bother him, since he understood that Hikaru was growing up and had his own concerns.

He’d wondered for a bit if Hikaru had set Go aside the way he did with many fleeting fancies, but a passing conversation with Mitsuko had reassured him. She had asked him for advice about what to do with Hikaru, since Go had become his obsession and she didn’t know what to do with him.

He had advised patience, since Hikaru was still young. The boy wasn’t actually failing anything – in fact his history grades had shown remarkable improvement – so his interest in Go wasn’t hurting anything. Mitsuko had agreed with a dubious voice.

When Hikaru arrived on his doorstep unexpectedly to challenge him to a game, he had been overjoyed – especially when he realized that the boy wanted a goban. He would have bought one for him if he’d just asked, but Hikaru had the spirit of a go player. Nothing could have made him happier.

Hikaru looked different. His face was starting to lose the baby-fat of his childhood, and he’d grown a couple of inches since his last visit. Heihachi realized with shock that his grandson was now a teenager. Children grew up so fast.

His appearance wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He couldn’t believe the improvement in the boy’s skill level. Hikaru wasn’t good enough to beat him, but Heihachi had enough talent to recognize that his grandson was remarkable. Maybe even a prodigy.

The boy hadn’t won their bet, but he still bought him the goban. He wanted to encourage Hikaru’s interest. He hoped that someday they’d be able to share matches, and maybe even compete in a couple of those family tournaments he’d always wanted to go to.

Mitsuko yelled at him when he bought the goban at Hikaru’s request, but he had seen the look in Hikaru’s eyes. The spirit of Go had infected him, and Heihachi would support him.

Masao hadn’t been happy about it either. “Hikaru does poorly in school, father,” he’d said in one of their infrequent phone conversations. “He doesn’t need to get distracted by a silly board game.”

The words had hurt, though Heihachi didn’t want to admit that. Instead he had grumped and said that he was entitled to indulge his grandson.

Sometimes he would wonder how Hikaru was doing with Go, since the boy rarely visited him now. He wouldn’t admit to being lonely – he had his friends he met every day in the salon, but the thing he wanted most was another chance to play his grandson.

When Hikaru joined the insei, he nearly burst with pride. All he could talk about to his friends in the go parlors was his talented grandson. Many humored him, but when Hikaru’s picture came out in Weekly Go as one of the new shodans, the others started to listen closely. Having a connection to a pro made them fiercely proud, and they promised to root for him. Hikaru didn’t know it, but he already had the firm basis for a fan club, thanks to his grandfather.

When Hikaru stopped playing, Heihachi had counseled patience to Mitsuko. He knew that Hikaru’s soul burned with the fire of a real player, someone who understood the inherent depth of the game. He knew that his grandson would return to the game, because the game owned a piece of his soul, just like it owned a bit of Heihachi’s.

He was right, and Hikaru returned to the world of the pros.

Hikaru was fifteen when he showed up on Heihachi’s doorstep for the third time to demand a rematch. Heihachi had known his grandson had probably grown beyond his skill, but pretended offense when the boy offered him a handicap. He had gone into the game knowing he couldn’t win, but it was the best game he’d ever played. Heihachi had never enjoyed losing so much, because in the end, he was gaining something even more valuable.


End file.
